


100 Knives

by tanyart



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are few things that Hawke admires very much.  Anders is only a small part of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	100 Knives

**Author's Note:**

> Rogue aggressive!Hawke/Anders.

Anders felt rather than saw Hawke’s eyes on him.He could have ignored it, he _could_ , but it was as if his feet and body had a mind of its own, or perhaps it was Justice taking advantage of that spark of anger—but Anders turned, the injury kit already in his hands and he was at Hawke’s side.

“Where were you?” Hawke spat, sitting up.There was blood welling from under his light armor, dripping sluggishly down his arm.He looked furious, and had every right to be.

Anders gripped his staff before placing it on the ground next to him.Hawke had every _right_ —as their leader, as his friend—but that did not mean Hawke was wholly justified.Reasoning would have said for Anders to have healed him during the battle, and logic would have dictated otherwise, when Hawke disappeared in that damn smoke cloud of his to appear next to Aveline, way out of Anders’ periphery.

Or so that was what Anders told himself.He had known Hawke was slowing down, taking too many hits, and then that bastard just had to _vanish_ into thin air with a savage and mocking grin.Aveline was strong, the knight could have taken care of herself, but Hawke was drawn to the crowd of enemies like a moth to flame.It didn’t matter if she needed the help out not, and from the apologetic look she threw Anders, Aveline knew that Hawke was wrong, in part; yes, Anders should have healed Hawke, but he did not deserve _this_ , to be yelled at in front of the rest of the party.

With a snarl, Hawke grabbed him by the front of the tunic, drawing so close that Anders could feel the damp, prickly strands of dark hair against his cheek and smell the blood from his brow, see the very place where he had put his lips to it the night before.

“You were supposed to be watching _me_ ,” Hawke said, his voice clear and dangerous.“I take priority. You know I do not have the same strength as the others. I need you.”

Anders didn't have to turn around to see the rest of the party make their telltale signs, uncomfortable but unsurprised—the rhythmic click of Fenris’ broadsword against his nail, Aveline’s shield bouncing on her back while she took measured paces around the abandoned camp.Hawke was not an eloquent man, hated to mince his words and so said them at face value.They all knew what he meant.Just because he said he did not have the strength did not mean he was _weak_.

And just because he said needed Anders, did not mean he didn't needed all of them as well.It hurt, sometimes, knowing that his words were not exclusive, when he valued the number of enemies felled in battle more than the number of kisses in bed, and that the easiest way to his heart was through competency and skill with a staff or blade. 

“I understand,” Anders said, handing over the bottle, and Hawke’s hand, warm and sticky with blood, reached up to grasp his wrist, thumb rubbing small circles against his palm.Anders wondered, then, if this was how it felt to love and hate a person so much that he could barely muster the words to scream it.

“Good. I'm glad,” Hawke murmured, just for his ears only, and drank.


End file.
